


sugar to sweeten

by Anonymous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Attempt at Humor, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Han Jisung | Han is a Mess, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Confident Gay, M/M, More tags to be added, sugarbaby!minho, sugardaddy!jisung
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Minho extends his arm behind him, plucking out a sugar packet from its glass container. With his gaze locked on Jisung, he drops the packet onto the ground and makes a show of picking it up. He parades a full view of ass, subtly enhanced by the tightness of his jeans, and arches his back when returning to an upright position—all before inching closer in Jisung’s direction. While trailing his other hand down Jisung’s shoulder, Minho closes the gap, lips barely brushing on the shell of his ear.“Excuse me,” he whispers, pressing the packet of sugar into Jisung’s free hand. “I think you dropped your name tag.”or:Han Jisung, a young, rich, and awkward investment banker, becomes Minho's sugar daddy. All Minho has to do is pretend to be Jisung's boyfriend in return. Sounds simple enough, right?
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87
Collections: Anonymous





	sugar to sweeten

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to my sugar daddy fic. i love the sugar daddy trope, i love fake dating, i love emotional constipation, so i had to put them all in one. and that's how this fic was born. 
> 
> also i wanna quickly say that this beginning part is inspired by the fic "fake sugar" by minverse, please go check out that fic if you haven't. 
> 
> i will try my hardest to post updates regularly, so please please bear with me here.

This isn’t Minho’s usual scene.

Granted, a lot of things aren’t Minho’s usual scene. Just in the past year alone, he’s exhausted the idea of socializing, preferring to stay indoors and wallow in his own self-pity in the comfort of his own home. That’s not to say that Minho never goes out for fun—he isn't a killjoy—just that, well—

The air in this bar is no different from the air in any other run-of-the-mill, neighborhood bar. The lights are dimmed, just enough to make him want to drink until he’s seeing stars. The walnut-stained wood shelves have an abundance of liquor sitting on them, and who could forget the faux leather barstools that have numbed the lower half of his body so he can no longer register the metal that’s peeking out from underneath and digging into his skin. Or the overhead lights, that were definitely supposed to be a part of the interior designer’s rustic vision, but gave the impression of a safety hazard waiting for a lawsuit, the swinging light bulbs hanging too close for comfort.

Minho takes another dainty sip of his whiskey—not his usual drink, just him choosing to be pretentious—and swears under his breath. Hyunjin had hauled him here under the guise of today being a “celebratory Friday after a long and exhausting week of work,” but of course, Hyunjin had long disappeared into the abyss of dim lights and alcohol.

Of course, because Hyunjin had been the one to coerce him enough to leave his house for the first Friday in weeks.

Of course, because Hyunjin had been the one to take him to this sleazy bar, buy Minho one drink (and only one drink) before jumping ship to flirt with someone in the corner.

Of course, because Hyunjin had been alluring enough to take said person home, abandoning his life-long friend at the bar.

 _Seungmin would be on his side,_ Minho can’t help but think as he taps his fingers on the counter, _Seungmin would have never forced him to do something as ostacious as going to a bar on a Friday night._ Except, if he truly dwells on the thought, there is a possibility that Seungmin would take Hyunjin’s side. They would play tag-team, hounding Minho about losing his youth, and therefore his charm (Minho himself believes this line of reasoning to be a hoax, but Hyunjin and Seungmin definitely knew how to push his buttons). Yet Seungmin was never one for dimly-lit places, it didn't matter if alcohol was in the picture or not. This sort of spot was Hyunjin’s territory and Hyunjin’s territory alone.

Minho glances around the bar; it’s a relatively crowded affair. He’s unable to distinguish the faces of anyone, the people blurring together as a couple of darkened silhouettes—partly due to the lack of light, but also partly due to his wavering vision, which he refuses to correct with glasses. Furthermore, the chatter from the other patrons distracts him, causing him to restart the process all over again.

There are numerous college students yelling across tables and chairs. Another table appears to have assembled a group of middle-aged dads. Over something that Minho suspects he would not find the least bit amusing, they all erupt into deep guffaws.

Even though he is successfully able to make his rounds, checking out the rest of the bar, he can’t help but feel a tingling feeling in his back. The feeling that someone is watching him, but that could also be the byproduct of drinking alone. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket for a distraction, but the time displaying on the screen more than disappoints him. Time was warped when alcohol was consumed, usually in the sense that it distorted the hours into minutes. Tonight? Not so much. Then, he recalls how quickly Hyunjin was able to get inside, down his fair share of drinks, and leave with a man hanging from his arms, and makes a mental note to congratulate him about his stealthy ways later.

Yet determined as he is to make sure Hyunjin gets an earful tomorrow on how he performed the ultimate act of betrayal by abandoning Minho—not to mention how he never wants to accompany him anywhere ever again—he is also determined to not leave so soon. He leans back, foolishly anticipating there to be back support, only to be met with thin air. Jolting forward, he hopes that nobody saw the rookie mistake he just made and returns to swirling the glass of whiskey, taking another modest sip to busy himself.

Before he’s able to lose himself in another train of thought, he’s met with a light tap on his shoulder. It’s only a gentle touch, not one that mandates he turn around, so he consciously chooses to ignore it instead. That is, until he feels the touch again, this time with enough force behind it that it almost (but not quite) sends him flying out of the stool to be sprawled across the floor.

He turns around, clutching his shoulder in the area that had just been hit while kneading circles into his arm. He’s met with a guy, who looks both incredibly in and out of place. He’s wearing an all-black getup, paired with platform shoes, and complete with a sly look on his face. His eyes are big and button-like, causing him to come off as more innocent than intimidating. That, coupled with the fact that the guy’s cheeks are round and vivacious, makes Minho suspect that whoever this was could never hurt a fly.

He couldn’t say the same for himself.

“Yes?” Minho raises one eyebrow at the guy, who is rocking back and forth on his heels anxiously.

“Yes, uh, hi,” the guy stutters when he meets Minho in the eyes. Then, the glint in his gaze changes from nervous to cocky. He clears his throat before continuing. “How are you doing?”

“I’m... fine…” Minho replies, not even attempting to hide the confusion and cautiousness in his voice. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks for asking,” the guy says as if it’s not common courtesy to be polite. Then again, he supposes that the response was common courtesy as well. Their conversation resembles something straight out of a high school textbook.

That is, until: “I wanted to let you know that, um, you’re a nine out of ten, and I’m the one you need.” He concludes the pick-up line with a lip bite best suited for a middle schooler’s Instagram pictures.

“Are you insulting my looks?” Minho furrows his brows, clenching his heart protectively with the best offended look he can muster.

“No, no, no,” the guy splutters, cringing at his own words. “I just meant, like, it’s a pick-up line?” He nervously scratches at the back of his neck, biting down hard on his bottom lip. “Like, you’re a nine out of ten, and I’m the one you need. Like I’m the person you need, not like another point or anything. And I don’t even think that someone calling someone else a nine out of ten is an insult, because a nine, that’s like still an A in my book, so I was actually trying to compliment you, but sorry if—”

“Okay,” Minho declares, cutting off the guy’s rambly explanation before he can humiliate himself any further. “I was just making a joke. I understood the pick-up line.”

The guy has confusion written all over his face, but when Minho’s words eventually strike him, it’s replaced with a sheepish expression. Minho’s stomach swirls with a sensation most akin to guilt, that he nearly contemplates apologizing for his blunt demeanor. But he doesn’t.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Um,” the guy mumbles, fumbling with his thumbs. “You’re so sweet, uh, you’re giving me a toothache.”

He looks back up at Minho with anticipation.

“Are you like... okay?” Minho draws out the words with equal parts amusement and concern. His jaw is left slightly open. He genuinely cannot distinguish whether this guy is being sincere with the pick-up lines or if someone’s set him up to do this as a half-hearted dare. “And by the way, that was even worse than the first one.”

“Sorry. Should I try again?” He sounds hesitant, like he’s really questioning whether or not Minho wants to hear another pick-up line.

The answer is resoundingly clear.

“Please don’t.”

“Oh,” the guy breathes out. At this point, Minho is doubtful of what this man is hoping to accomplish. If his goal is to try and pick Minho up for a night, then he’s doing a god-awful job at it. If it’s not, then what was the point? Intentions aside, he’s not sure he wants to entertain this man any longer with his antics.

“Look,” Minho starts, exhaling a loud sigh into the stuffy air. “If you’re trying to flirt with me, I’m really flattered, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now, so…”

The guy doesn’t hear him—or just doesn’t care—his eyes darting around the area where Minho’s sitting and asking: “Can I take a seat?”

Minho shrugs. “Go ahead. It’s a free country.”

The man shuffles beside him and tugs the barstool out, creating a high-pitched and jarring screech as it scrapes across the floor. He takes a seat, shifting on the stool uncomfortably before finding a position that he deems fit.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Minho presses his lips into a thin line, prepared to turn around and make a beeline towards the door. Though, something about this situation doesn’t quite warrant for him to act on it.

“Sure,” he responds monotonously, masking the fact that he’s always been a sucker for free things. Consequently, it leads him right into situations like this—never being able to turn down anyone who offers free things (to an extent). The root cause could be the influences of Hyunjin and his schemes, but if it benefits him, then so be it. As Hyunjin always says: hate the player but don’t hate the game. That’s something he swears by now.

The guy waves down the bartender and sinks back down (or as much as one could sink down on a barstool).

“But just so you know,” Minho adds, once he has said free drink in hand. “I’m still not looking for a relationship. So thank you for the drink, but I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for.” His aim is to let down the man easily. Never in his life did he peg himself to be a heartbreaker.

“What if I pay you?” The guy blurts out in a frenzy, his eyes desperate and pleading. “I could pay you?” His offer comes out sounding more like a question than anything with legitimacy behind it.

“What the fuck?” Minho raises his voice in dismay, eyes bulging out from his head. “Did you just...what?”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” the guy begins to rapidly mutter under his breath. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I sound awful, don’t I? I just mean...I sound so stupid.” He runs his hands through his styled hair haphazardly, destroying any of the gel that kept it in place. “I didn’t mean it like...how you thought I meant it. I just meant like...I…”

Minho pats him on the back, a clumsy attempt to comfort the man. From an onlooker’s perspective, this might not be a peculiar scene, but for all Minho knows, he wasn’t expecting to console the person that had been hitting on _him._ Something about this situation comes across awfully backwards.

“Okay, okay,” Minho shakes his head in disbelief. Snatching the water next to his emptied glass of whiskey, he holds it up and offers it to the man. “Here, have some of my water. It’s not poisoned or anything, so don’t worry.”

The man eagerly obliges, taking the glass out of Minho’s grasp and gulping it dry in a matter of seconds. He licks his lips afterward, lapping up the remaining water droplets, before pivoting back in Minho’s direction and inhaling deeply.

“Sorry,” he apologizes once again. “I mean, everyone at work is always on my case about how I’ve never really been in a real relationship and it really gets on my nerves and so…” He stops momentarily, his round but distraught eyes scanning Minho’s before resuming. “So I told them I had a boyfriend, but I obviously don’t.” An airy chuckle. “And you were the hottest one in the room by a longshot, and so I was wondering if you would, like, pretend to be my boyfriend for a while?”

Minho is truly—for the first time in his life—at a loss for words. He very likely could tumble out of his chair if his hand wasn’t tensely resting on the table. His mouth is dry, he’s at such a loss for what to say in response.

“And I could pay you. I could do that,” the guy blurts out in a hurry. “If you want, I could do that.”

Minho does a thorough inspection of the man, taking in his appearance from head to toe. He had noticed the all-black outfit from the beginning, laced with silver chains and other miscellaneous detailing. There’s brown eyeliner swiped across his eyelids, most of it smudged and rubbed away by now. Even with the edgy-teen-angst image that the guy is obviously trying to project, he maintains a small stature, like Minho could say one foul word and the man would break in half. Despite all of that, he notices for the first time tonight how cute—in an adorable way—and not to mention, _young_ the guy actually seems to be.

“Sorry, I don’t want to take money from a college student,” he eventually answers, biting the inside of his cheek to ground himself from the oddity of a situation. As much as he wants the extra dollar or two, he still possessed the basic quality of human empathy. That meant that the last thing he would do was take money from a struggling student, having been in this exact situation not long ago.

“I’m not a college student,” the guy huffs angrily, his cheeks puffing out along with it. The words, when paired with the sight, are wholly unconvincing. “I’m twenty-four years old. And I’m being completely serious right now.”

So the guy was the same age as both Hyunjin and Seungmin. Still younger than Minho, but his prediction was just a couple years off.

“Okay...” Minho places his elbow on the table, resting his head on his hand and cocking a brow. “So let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend to throw your friends off at work. And in return, you’ll pay me.”

The guy nods, taking a couple of steady, calm breaths. “That sounds about right.”

“So, you’re basically offering to be my sugar daddy.”

As if the situation wasn’t comical enough, the guy chokes on his spit, hacking out a painful and throaty cough. Minho has no choice but to give him a couple of rough hits on his back. With all the glasses strung around him empty, he waves down the bartender for some water, handing it to the guy as some sort of assistance to his ailment. Luckily, it appears that none of the other patrons had overheard the conversation leading up to this, not a single soul sparing them a second glance.

“Um,” the guy falters once he has caught his breath. “Your sugar…?” It looks like it pains him to even utter the string of words. “Your...your…sugar daddy?”

“Yes, my sugar daddy.” Minho rolls his eyes in exasperation, rubbing at his temples before a different switch in his brain flicks on and he catches himself asking: “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The guy reddens at the pet name, and Minho has the slightest tinge of remorse for pushing through with the quick jab. It’s already been a long night—longer than he could have ever imagined—so maybe he should’ve just held off with the teasing. But he can’t help himself, not when this guy has put himself up as bait, and definitely not when this is the reaction he receives.

“I’m Jisung, nice to meet you, uh…”

“Lee Minho.” He sticks out one of his hands for Jisung to shake, and he does. Except, Jisung’s hands are much clammier than any of the other hands he’s made contact with in his lifetime. As a result, he has to will away the urge to not wipe his hands on his jeans in an attempt to not come off as distasteful. “Listen, Jisung. I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but…” His mind suddenly tangents and he’s asking a completely different question than the one he had originally planned. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an investment banker,” Jisung responds. “You know, numbers and stocks and… yeah.”

“Sure.” Minho doesn’t have much to add towards Jisung’s job discourse and doesn’t give two shits about investment banking, but it paints him a greater picture as to why Jisung has the means to fund this little…endeavor of his.

“You know what, Jisung?” Minho says, causing Jisung to perk up in his seat. “What are your terms and conditions?”

“Terms and conditions?” Jisung tilts his head quizzically to the side.

“Yeah, like, you would pay me for my time. What would I actually be doing during that time you’re paying me for?”

Jisung actually looks a bit stunned at the question, like he hadn’t expected Minho to ask for any clarification. Which is a bit strange and makes Minho wonder if Jisung had done any sort of strategic planning before offering him money to play fake boyfriend for an indefinite amount of time. If this was the way Jisung operated, then Minho can’t quite imagine how he survived at his job for as long as he has (which judging by the looks of it, was not long at all). But Minho gives him the benefit of the doubt and settles on the lack of preparation resulting from nerves rather than it being a measure of intelligence.

“Well,” he pauses in thought. “What are _your_ terms and conditions?”

“I asked you first. I can’t have any terms and conditions without knowing what yours are.”

“Oh,” Jisung pouts for the nth time, Minho’s lost count by now. “Well, I guess you would have to accompany me to work functions, like dinners and stuff.”

“Okay, dinners and stuff,” Minho nods in agreeance. “Anything else?”

“And we could go on a couple of dates and you would have to meet my friends, just to convince them that we’re actually like,” Jisung chokes out another cough, “together.”

“Meet the friends and a couple dates,” Minho nods again. “Anything else?”

“Just like normal couple things,” Jisung says at a volume so hushed that Minho has to lean towards him to make out the words. “So we can convince them better, you know, like a kiss and holding hands, or something. I don’t know.”

Minho holds back the urge to giggle and instead, lets one corner of his mouth lift up into a smirk. “I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to stop mumbling and speak up, Jisungie.” He tacks on the nickname with a sickly sweet voice, the tips of Jisung’s ears turning crimson as a result.

“I just meant, like…” Jisung is completely flushed red. To say that Minho is amused would be an understatement. He’s usually the easy target to fluster among his friends, and now he’s on the opposing side. In the back of his mind, he wonders if this is why Seungmin, Hyunjin, and on occasion Felix, gain personal gratification by ruffling his feathers. “I mean, just like one, or maybe two, like, kisses. In front of my friends. And then maybe hand holding? I don’t know. Whatever normal couples do. I don’t know.”

“You’ve really never been in a relationship before?” Jisung saying those words at the start were hard to believe. Right now? It’s all beginning to piece together.

“No, not really,” Jisung stares down, his gaze glued onto the ground. “I mean, I’ve done...stuff. But I’ve never really... you know?”

“Sure,” Minho says because he’s no longer in the mood to push Jisung to the brink before their “arrangement” has even begun. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Jisung rips his gaze off of the floor and onto Minho, his eyes filled with hope and optimism. “Really?”

“Really,” Minho assures him with a smile. “But as long as you’re being serious about the money side of things.”

Jisung nods earnestly, eyes wide and eager.

“Okay!” Jisung literally hops out of the barstool. It’s cute, Minho will give him that. But before Minho can fit in another word, he’s hopping away. Then, he creates a phone sign with his hands and holds it up to his ear before yelling, “Call me!”

“Hey, I don’t have your number,” he shouts at Jisung, who is on his way to never encountering Minho again. His words cause Jisung to freeze in his tracks. He swivels on the balls of his feet and walks back shamefully, his head hung low. Minho pulls out his phone, sets it to an empty contacts page, and hands it over to Jisung. Jisung types in his details rapidly, sends a text to himself, and places the phone back into Minho’s hands, all within a minute.

“Well,” Jisung returns to shifting on his feet. “You have my number now.”

“I do,” Minho smiles, perhaps with a little too much fondness for their predicament. “I have your number, you have mine, and the rest can be worked out later?”

“Yeah,” Jisung grins back, sweet and simple. “Does this make you my official sugar baby?”

“Okay,” Minho snorts. “I don’t know how I feel about the sound of that.”

“Well, you did call me your sugar dad—” Minho presses his hand over Jisung’s mouth before he can finish the sentence. As much as he knows it to be true, the last thing he wants to do is for this man to call him his sugar baby. A younger, more successful, and established man. He shudders at the thought.

Minho extends his arm behind him, plucking out a sugar packet from its glass container. With his gaze locked on Jisung, he drops the packet onto the ground and makes a show of picking it up. Bending down from the hips, he parades a full view of ass, subtly enhanced by the tightness of his jeans, and arches his back when returning to an upright position—all before inching closer in Jisung’s direction. It’s a small step, but it’s enough to invade his personal space. While trailing his other hand down Jisung’s shoulder, Minho closes the gap, lips barely brushing on the shell of his ear.

“Excuse me,” he whispers, pressing the packet of sugar into Jisung’s free hand. “I think you dropped your name tag.”

Then he walks away, taking notice of Jisung’s face, absolutely aflame.

“And that’s how you do a pick-up line right,” Minho states with a wink before sauntering towards the exit, swinging the door open, and stepping out of the bar.

…

“Hwang Hyunjin” is the first thing Minho says when he steps inside of his apartment. “What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s a quarter past midnight. Hyunjin is lying on his sofa, the length of his body spread across three cushions. Scrolling through his phone with a slice of bread in his other hand—most definitely stolen from Minho’s fridge—like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s become, what Minho would call, a permanent accessory to his apartment. The decor that he did not ask for. The pest that he is unable to exterminate.

Upon closer inspection, Minho sees that all of Hyunjin’s makeup from before is wiped off, and he’s wearing lounge clothes that were not what he was donning earlier that night. Either Hyunjin went back home to change into something more comfortable before inviting himself to Minho’s apartment as an unwelcome guest, or he borrowed something from Seungmin. He would bet on the latter.

“You have your own apartment,” Minho deadpans, throwing his jacket off to the side. It barely misses the loveseat. “Why the fuck do you feel the need to keep coming to mine?”

“Oh, hey,” Hyunjin greets once he spots Minho in the doorway, finishing the last bit of bread and dusting off his hands before sitting upright. Minho makes note to vacuum that area later, sure to be littered with minuscule bread crumbs, no thanks to the person currently occupying his couch. “How was your night?”

“Hyunjin,” Minho grits through clenched teeth. “You didn’t answer my question. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, my date sucked,” Hyunjin says, like that in and of itself was enough of an explanation. “Thanks for the bread, by the way, it was good.”

“I didn’t bake the bread, you can thank the grocery store instead,” Minho snaps, his eyebrows knitting together. “You just decided to take it from me. Anyway, was it really a date?”

“Was it not?”

“I’m not sure people go on, quote on quote, _dates_ after they leave the bar?” Minho lifts a skeptical brow at Hyunjin, settling down on the cushion next to him. His body relaxes into the sofa and he throws his head back. Letting out a long breath, he turns to look at Hyunjin, who’s staring at him unimpressed.

“Okay, so you knew what I meant by _date._ Stop being such a smartass,” Hyunjin shoots back, rolling his eyes and drawing his feet up from his floor so he’s sitting on his calves.

“You need to stop coming to my apartment unannounced.”

“You usually don’t care,” Hyunjin shrugs nonchalantly, picking at the hem of his shirt.

“Well.” Minho can’t easily counter that. It’s true, he isn’t particularly bothered by Hyunjin barging into his apartment, only putting on the front of annoyance for the sake of doing so. Then again, Hyunjin doesn’t usually show up after midnight and definitely doesn’t show up after leaving with someone at the bar, forcing Minho to fend for himself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given you my spare key.”

Hyunjin squints at him. “You didn’t give me the key. Seungmin did.”

Minho narrows his eyes back at Hyunjin menacingly. He had forgotten that his roommate would sacrifice Minho’s well-being for his own. Yet, he applauds himself. Minho would never give Hyunjin the key, not even in a moment of weakness. “Of course he did.”

“Why are you acting like this is a surprise?” They’re having a full-on staring (read: glaring) contest now. “It’s been months since I’ve had it. You were even there when he gave me the key?”

Now that Hyunjin mentions it, he had been there when Seungmin transferred ownership of the spare key to Hyunjin, rationalizing how helpful it was if either of them were to be in a dire situation. At the time, it _had_ seemed like a good idea, plus Seungmin is to be trusted with his decisions, so Minho easily agreed. With the precious gift of hindsight, there’s probably more to it than _giving Hyunjin the key just in case,_ but he can’t be bothered to read into it any further.

“You still haven’t told me how your date went.”

Groaning, Hyunjin flops against the back of the couch like a ragdoll. “I told you, it sucked.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Hyunjin side-eyes him, signaling that his joke was nowhere near as funny to Hyunjin as it sounded in his head, but nonetheless, Minho is unable to suppress the growing smirk on his face.

“Anyway,” Hyunjin continues, “I know you saw how I was flirting with that guy at the bar, but Minho, he had a Rolex. A _Rolex,_ okay? That’s like a highway billboard in terms of personal advertisement. Literally begging for me to talk to him. So I go up to him, ‘cause I’m sure he’s going to be loaded or whatever. And he wasn’t even that bad looking or old. Usually, it’s a toss up between the two. But anyway.”

Minho nods with amusement. “Uh huh. And then?”

“We went back to his apartment, or should I say,” Hyunjin shrieks, “to his _dorm room!_ And don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing inherently bad about that, really, but his room was like, peak manchild. Super fucking messy, you wouldn’t even be able to get a foot inside without stepping on something, let’s just say, questionable. So I just left.”

“So you just left?” Minho echoes. Hyunjin bobs his head up and down. “Why does that warrant you coming into my apartment again?”

“Are you going to be on my ass about this forever?” Hyunjin asks skeptically. “I just told you about one of the worst experiences of my life, and yet you’re still here like _Hyunjin, why are you in my apartment? I’m so alone and nobody likes me, but Hwang Hyunjin, the only person who’s willing to voluntarily spend time with me, Lee Minho, the most insufferable person on this planet, why are you still in my apartment?_ I’ll tell you why I’m in your apartment. In case you forgot, our dearest friend Seungmin also lives here, so get it through your thick skull that maybe I came to visit him instead. Have you ever thought about that possibility, or does the world just revolve around you? Or maybe because I just want to be in your apartment, okay? Is that such a difficult concept to understand?”

“Okay, damn,” Minho surrenders with his hands. He gathers himself before speaking again, this time in a tone that’s eerily tranquil. “Well, I’m sorry that happened to you. Hopefully you will never have to deal with a situation as horrific as that ever again. It’s so terrible how something so awful could happen to you, Hwang Hyunjin, at such a young age.”

“Cut the bullshit. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, but it definitely does,” Minho grins, elbowing Hyunjin in his side.

Hyunjin groans again, full of exasperation and defeat. “Why is it so hard to find a man who has money, who I can tolerate, _and_ who will pay off my student debt? Why is it so hard? I’m not even asking for that much.”

They’ve had this conversation more times than Minho could count on his two hands and feet. Every time they do, they reach no better conclusion than before.

But in Minho’s humble, yet honest opinion, Hyunjin is asking for a lot.

“You are asking for a lot,” Minho supplies. “Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

“Did you get a PhD in proverbs?” Hyunjin crinkles his nose. “This is the part where you’re supposed to comfort me, you know?”

“Money doesn’t buy you happiness either.” He pokes at Hyunjin’s chest while punctuating each word. “You have to find your own personal happiness, and only then will you be satisfied with yourself.”

“Don’t ever become a motivational speaker,” Hyunjin slings Minho’s hand away from his chest, giving him a sinister glare.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“So that happened, I guess,” Hyunjin sighs, diverting the conversation back to the original topic. “But how was your night? Did you meet anyone or, you know?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Maybe if you didn’t ditch me, you would know,” Minho says, purposely lacing bitterness into his voice. He’s not mad, not really. When he wasn’t the one getting the short end of the stick like Hyunjin was, there’s no reason for him to stay angry. That’s karma for him. “When you say _anyone,_ I hope you’re not suggesting that I found myself a boyfriend?”

“Love is dead, I know. But you seriously need to get over that,” Hyunjin helpfully provides. “I know that your ex was a little bitch, but guess what? Most, if not all, exes are little bitches. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be exes.”

“Thank you for your wise words. They really gave me some insight on the situation at hand.”

Hyunjin doesn’t blink an eye, surveying Minho methodically. “Did you know that the eyes are the windows to the soul?”

“Yeah?” Minho replies dumbly. He doesn't know where Hyunjin is going with this.

“Well, that’s not the case for you. The windows to your soul are your ears, and they’re really fucking red right now,” Hyunjin points to his earlobes, which were heating up, to what he would guess, a pleasant shade of rose. “So spill. Who’d you meet?”

“It’s not about _who_ I met, really,” Minho corrects him. “It’s more about the opportunities that I’ve gained.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I really cannot do this anymore.”

“But if you really wanted to know,” he says, feigning ignorance, “I found myself a sugar daddy.”

“You...what?” Hyunjin balks, slack-jawed, wide enough that a fly could land on the tip of his tongue.

“I found myself a sugar daddy,” Minho repeats slowly.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes,” Hyunjin emphasizes the word, as if to hypnotize Minho into believing that he’s dreaming. “You literally are.”

“I’m really not,” Minho says with all seriousness. He can pinpoint the exact moment when Hyunjin realizes that this is not an elaborate prank, because the look in his eyes transforms from its initial disbelief into envy.

“Why do good things always have to happen to bad people?” Hyunjin whines, repeatedly thumping his head on the back cushion of the sofa. “Life is so fucking unfair.”

“I let you into my house and you’re calling me a bad person?” Minho asks incredulously, a hand hovering over his mouth. “Wow, the disrespect you have for me is actually unreal.”

“What’s actually unreal is how you’re _still_ on that when I just told you to get over it.”

“You called me a bad person.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Hyunjin shrugs, staring up at the ceiling wistfully. “That could’ve been my sugar daddy.”

“You left me in a bar by myself for some guy with a Rolex. I don’t think you deserve a sugar daddy.”

Hyunjin pouts, jutting out his lower lip. “You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t deserve.”

“I don’t think you would want this one anyway, he’s really young and kind of looks like a…” Minho jogs his mind for an object that bears the slightest bit of resemblance. “...he kind of looks like a squirrel? Or a chipmunk? I don’t know the difference.”

“First of all, I’m not going to point out how you just said that you can’t tell the difference between a chipmunk and a squirrel but—”

“You just did,” Minho interrupts.

Hyunjin casts him a sidelong glance. “Second of all, I just want a sugar daddy. Anyone. I don’t even care anymore. And the fact that you said he’s young? Why did you have to get lucky?”

“Not my fault.”

“No, it’s not your fault. Just that life has it out for me apparently.” Hyunjin peels himself off of the back cushion and straightens up, newfound interest in his expression. “Do you have a picture of him?”

“No,” Minho says, but pulls out his phone anyway, scrolling through his camera roll as if to validate his claim. “We just met, and not everyone’s as obsessed with taking pictures as you are.”

“Well, do you at least have a name?”

Minho takes a deep breath before uttering: “Jisung.” It’s only then that he realizes that didn’t manage to catch Jisung’s last name before making his remarkable exit.

“Jisung?”

“Jisung,” Minho reaffirms. “Do what you will with that information.”

Hyunjin peers at him before sliding his phone out from underneath him, tapping on the screen for a few seconds and pulling up a picture of some dude who was good looking, sure, but was at least ten years older and did not resemble the Jisung he was talking about one bit.

“Did you seriously google...” Minho leans in closer to the screen to double check that he didn’t misread the text in the search bar. “Did you seriously just look up... _Jisung rich man?”_

“You weren’t giving me anything to work with!” Hyunjin screeches defensively. “Jisung is not an unusual name, what did you expect me to do?”

Truth be told, he acknowledges Hyunjin’s keywording skills. Just that they were a little useless in this context. Actually, they were a little useless a lot of the time, regardless of the situation, but nevertheless—

“His name is Han Jisung,” Minho states, confirming through the ways of the contact name that Jisung—or should he clarify—Han Jisung had left in his phone.

“Han Jisung.” Hyunjin draws out each syllable as he types the name into the search bar. Another picture is loaded onto his screen as Hyunjin holds the phone close to Minho’s face. “Is this him?”

The photo is of a young man, dressed in a clean and crisp suit. His hair is dark and styled neatly off of his face. He looks expensive, with the rebel teen image he had at the bar significantly toned down, but somehow still radiating rebel teen energy: This Time With a Job!

Regardless, it’s undeniably the same Jisung he had met at the bar.

“That’s him,” Minho confirms, still studying the picture until Hyunjin rips the phone away from his field of vision.

“He’s cute. You lucked out,” Hyunjin speaks with a sense of awe in his voice, but it abruptly increases tenfold. “And he works for DIVgroups as an associate? Dude, holy shit.”

“Are you on his Linkedin?”

“Yep,” he says as he continues to scroll through Jisung’s credentials.

“He’s going to know that you checked his Linkedin. It shows who’s looked at your profile before. You do realize that, right?”

“I don’t care,” Hyunjin exasperatedly huffs. “You’re missing the point. He works for DIVgroups. As an associate.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“It means he’s rich!” Hyunjin tosses his phone to his side, not caring to check where it landed. “You’re going to be living lavish!”

At that moment, Seungmin, with roused hair and puffy eyes, likely from waking up from his slumber, wanders into the room. Minho trails his eyes on him as Seungmin strolls into the kitchen. Though, Seungmin doesn't take notice of him or Hyunjin, filling up a glass with water until he freezes under Minho’s watchful gaze. Then, he detects Hyunjin behind Minho, leaving him blinking in a bout of confusion.

“Hi guys?” Seungmin asks cautiously. “Hyunjin, I thought you left earlier?”

“Oh, no,” Hyunjin clarifies, “I decided to wait for Minho to get back.”

“Oh,” Seungmin mutters, locking eyes with Hyunjin and not even sparing Minho a glance. The tap continues to flow freely, the sound of the water hitting the sink vibrating through the air.

“Wow. Good morning, everyone,” Minho clasps his hands together, the smacking sound jolting Hyunjin and Seungmin out of their conjoined trances. While Seungmin scrambles to shut off the water, Minho dramatically gestures towards the blackened window. “It’s such a beautiful morning.”

“Good morning?” Seungmin says, catching a glimpse of the clock on the microwave. It has yet to reach one in the morning, and Seungmin turns back around, his eyes still delirious from sleep. “I need to go back to bed, but how was your night, Minho?”

“It was fine.”

At the same time, Hyunjin says: “Minho found himself a sugar daddy.”

“Really.” The disapproval in Seungmin’s voice is evident. Minho groans but doesn’t deny it, and Seungmin doesn’t pry further, flicking off the kitchen lights and standing at the entrance of the hallway. “I’d say I’m shocked, but you somehow always manage to outdo yourself. So you do you, I guess. Goodnight.” And then Seungmin mutters under his breath, a whisper that Minho almost is unable to hear. “Can’t believe that someone is willing to pay to remove the stick up your ass.”

…

**Han Jisung:** Do you like water?

 **Me:** no

 **Han Jisung:** Cause you already like 75% of me

 **Me:** what?

 **Han Jisung:** The human body is 75% water

 **Han Jisung:** So if you like water, then you already like 75% of the human body

 **Han Jisung:** Do you get it now?

 **Han Jisung:** But I guess if you don’t like water nevermind

 **Me:** who is this again?

 **Han Jisung:** Jisung, from the bar?

 **Han Jisung:** This is Minho, right…

 **Han Jisung:** Sorry, this might be the wrong number

 **Me:** i’m just messing with you

 **Me:** you do remember that you were the one who put your number in my phone...

 **Han Jisung:** Right…

 **Han Jisung:** Anyway, I have a work function next Friday that I want you to attend

 **Han Jisung:** It’s nothing too big, but yeah

 **Han Jisung:** Oh and send me your banking details

 **Me:** how can i be sure that you’re not going to scam me out of my money

 **Han Jisung:** You can never be sure

 **Han Jisung:** But I won’t scam you out of your money

 **Me:** that’s the best thing you’ve said all day

 **Me:** keep talking

 **Me:** sexy

 **Han Jisung:** Anyway, just wear your nicest clothes

 **Han Jisung:** And I’ll send you more details about it later

 **Me:** you’re not even gonna get me a chauffeur?

 **Me:** disappointing

 **Han Jisung:** Wait

 **Han Jisung:** Do you want a chauffeur?

 **Han Jisung:** Hello?

 **Han Jisung:** Minho???

**Author's Note:**

> i am posting this anon for now, but i'll eventually reclaim it maybe haha 
> 
> thank you for reading the first chapter, please let me know what you think so far !!!
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


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